Is This Some Kind of Joke?

Lawyer: "Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?"
Witness: "No."
Lawyer: "Did you check for blood pressure?"
Witness: "No."
Lawyer: "Did you check for breathing?"
Witness: "No."
Lawyer: "So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?"
Witness: "No."
Lawyer: "How can you be so sure, Doctor?"
Witness: "Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar."
Lawyer: "But could the patient have still been alive nevertheless?"
Witness: "Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law somewhere."

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There is no gravity

Just strings


There is no gravity. My theory is not accepted by other scientists, except for my associate Nancy. The rest say I can't claim to be a scientist because I have no credentials. But I don't need a driver's license to be a scientist. I am a scientist because I have a theory. I have seen the lack of gravity in action and am prepared to reveal what I know to the world. Try falling down. Go ahead, try it. When you hit the floor did you say to yourself, now there's gravity in action. No, you asked yourself why you would follow such foolish directions. Proof, I submit, that gravity does not exist.

Nancy once said, "Maybe if there weren't any gravity I could lose some weight."

"Maybe," I said.

How else can you explain helium, or paper airplanes? Or jets? The flimsy explanation that the flow of air at different speeds over the tops and the bottoms of the wings results in lift is patently absurd. Try getting out your leaf blower and pointing it down your back, Does this make you fall forward? Not likely. No, what holds the jet in the air, streaking its way to exciting destinations, are invisible strings. I know of at least two people who cannot see the invisible strings that keep jets in the air. If I know two people and they know two people, et cetera, there must be dozens of people who cannot see the invisible strings. These strings are the actual means by which the jet takes flight. Or it could be invisible stings attached to the stratosphere, which shouldn't be confused with gravity. Have you noticed that once the jet gets to the stratosphere is stops rising? Of course you have.

Your next question, aside from why am I reading this, may well be a classic one. What holds us on the earth. Well, when the earth was flat, there really wasn't anywhere else to go. Now that it's round, the explanation is simple. We are connected by invisible strings to the sun, moon, and stars, which make up the heavens. Easy, see? The heavenly bodies are so different from us that there are automatically created invisible strings between us. Or there could be invisible strings connecting us to the molten lava in the core of the earth. A nice hot bath would be nice, wouldn't it. How would I know? I only know that there is no such thing as gravity.

I will detail my own experiences with the lack of gravity as we go along. But first I want to tell you about the experiences of my friend. I'll call him "John" (that's his real name). John reports that every time he sets something down near the edge of a table, it falls off. Now, if there was such a thing as gravity, you would expect the object to remain on the table. But no, since most objects are closely related to garbage (more about this later), their predilection is to reside on the floor. Floors have lots of strings attached to them. I often find myself waking up on one (floor, not string). Objects will tend to "gravitate" (wrong word) to the floor. Even when you pick the object up and return it to the table, it is far more likely than not that the object will jump off the table to return to its preferred location, the floor. All the better if it breaks in the process. This is called entropy, for those of you without scientific knowledge. Speaking of science, I will now employ mathematics (a way to manipulate numbers) to explain why there is no gravity. If gravity is one thing, which if it existed it would be, then it would have trouble competing with the invisible strings, of which there are at least two. Two is greater than one, hence there is no gravity. You may not understand this mathematics, it is an advanced scientific topic, known only to a few. Count yourself lucky if you've been able to follow along.

Nancy once said, "Maybe somebody should clean this place up."

"Maybe," I replied.

I love to keep neat and tidy. That's why I love trash bags. I especially love opening a package of trash bags and trying to get one out. Whoever packages the trash bags lays then all flat and then folds them together five or six times, like some sort of origami. The Chinese puzzle of trash bags can only be solved by unfolding them all and taking one out. Then, of course, you need to fold them all up again, in order to keep them neat and tidy.

Then comes the fun part, finding the end of the bag that opens. There are no hints. I invariably try all four ends, sometimes twice, before I find the end that will open. Sometimes I manage to tear the bag trying to get it open.

Then I put the bag in a garbage container, which I had custom made because the bags won't fit in any off-the-shelf garbage bins. Neat and tidy. When it's time to change bags in the garbage bin, I notice that the bag has migrated to the bottom of the bin, with a ripe pile of garbage pushing it down to the bottom. The point of the bag has been defeated. Now you have to reach down through the ranks of rank filth in order to find an edge of the bag, which when pulled up, dumps the garbage on the floor. Mission accomplished. I know in my heart that garbage wants to be on the floor more than anything. I've observed its ways and it invariably wants to live on the floor.

Now that I've managed to get the garbage back into the bag, it's time to see how far I can carry it. This is a game I play with the garbage bag. The garbage bag, like Las Vegas, has already determined the likelihood of getting to the garbage pickup point. It is not high. My mission is to get past the halfway point before the bag gives up the ghost and distributes the garbage in an uneven pattern, usually on my cleanest carpet. At no time will the bag make the complete journey to the pickup point intact. When the bag breaks I fetch another bag to contain the first bag and as much of the garbage as I can gather by hand. Of course, I have to try all four ends before I find the one that opens. You may ask, why don't you just put two bags together in the first place. If I knew the answer to that question, I would know more than mortal men can comprehend.

When it comes to garbage, there is no gravity. When I let go of a piece of garbage directly above the garbage bin, it flies off on a tourist route to the floor. Remember, garbage lives on the floor. All it wants to do is go home. Only by placing my new piece of garbage down inside the garbage bin, thereby coating my hand with garbage sweat, is it possible to get the garbage to go into the bag. I can throw wadded paper into a garbage bin from thirty feet away, but if I drop a hammer directly above the bin it will strike a glancing blow to one corner, tipping the bin and its contents onto the floor, where garbage likes to live. Meanwhile, the hammer is also on the floor, coated with garbage scum, ready to transfer filth to my hands.

Nancy once said, "Maybe you should go back to work so we could buy a horse."

"Maybe," I frowned.

While it may be true that there is no gravity, there is a special invisible string that applies only to smoke. I love campfires and fireplaces, fire in general, but with fire comes smoke. Smoke is in love with me. This invisible string of love is the single best example of the lack of gravity. Wherever I am, smoke is drawn to me by the smoke love string, not gravity. Wind is not a factor. Smoke will gladly fight against the wind to get to me. Up, down or sideways makes no difference. And smoke's favorite part about me is my eyes. Smoke loves loves my eyes and longs to engage them in a romantic embrace. But it is in reality a stinging, biting pain.

I have been employed by the National Forest Service, at times, to locate fresh forest fires. All they have to do is put me in an area with a high fire danger and pretty soon smoke will come to find me. All they have to do is back track to the source and extinguish it. Nothing to it. I wish it had paid better.

I have also been hired by guides to accompany them on camping trips. As long as I am around, their clients are safe from the smoke. I really should have asked for more money.

When I walk down the street and a dirty, filthy deisel bus passes by, the exhaust seeks me out, me in particular. This is another example of invisible strings that proves the lack of gravity. You may not understand my reasoning, but it is there. You just can't see it, because reasoning is invisible like the strings. Nancy can't see the strings, either.

Nancy once said, "Maybe I could study computers and start my own company, like facebook."

"Maybe," I lied.

I love computers. They save me so much time and effort. I often find myself writing something on my computer, concentrating hard, because, you know, writing is so important. I'll find myself struggling towards some complex point I want to make, when, as if by magic, the computer offers to update itself for me. At times, as if this distraction was insufficient, the computer will spontaneously restart, in order to effectuate its update. Yes, effectuate is a word, and I like it. It proves that I'm not only educated, but also a scientist.

Sometimes my computer will not work after updating itself. I have to train myself to become a computer technician in order to "rollback" the updates. This is acceptable. I've always wanted to be a computer technician and help the feeble minded operate their "Free Cell" machine.

Computers don't seem to have much to do with gravity, but everyone carries one nowadays. They call it a phone, but really it's a computer. Nancy has one and is quite fond of looking at it. She'd rather look at her phone than breathe. "Maybe someone will call me," she says.

"Maybe," I doubt out loud.

USB cables are a fact of life at my house. I connect printers, mice, keyboards, chargers and all manner of other gadgets to my computer using the mighty USB cable. Unfortunately, the business end, the end that goes into the computer, is a perfect rectangle. This part will only connect in one of two ways. Now you might say that I have a 50/50 chance of choosing the right way the first time. Not so. I almost always get it right the first time. However, the connector does not go in, so I reverse it only to find out that it still won't go in. So, I reverse it again, to find that I was right the first time.

Now, why wouldn't the connector go in the first time? Because there is no gravity. Only invisible strings connecting the socket to the connector. And if you've ever worn shoes you know how unruly strings can be. The same problem applies to power cords. If there are only two prongs it will take me several tries to get the plug in the socket. My favorite cord is the television cable called coaxial. This little gem has a sharp, exposed wire that loves to draw blood like they do at my doctor's office. Said blood can be very usefull as a lubricant when trying to get the coaxial cable into an appropriate socket. And by appropriate I mean one that will deliver television programming. The ususal process for plugging in a coaxial cable involves prostating oneself on the floor and imitating a contortionist to reach around the back of some very heavy equipment and plug the cable in by feel. The socket, of course, is protected by invisible strings at all times, so it usually takes about ten minutes to find the socket and, aided by blood lubricant, slide the coaxial cable in. The socket will fight this process, but the inventor of the coaxial cable has thoughtfully included a nut that will supposedly fit over a corresponding set of threads on the socket. Only the nut will not turn, not by hand. And there aren't any wrenches made that will fit in the available space behind the heavy equipment. I advise you to take up knitting. Nancy once said, "Maybe I'll take up knitting."

"Maybe," I said, meaning that she either should or shouldn't.

The phone usually rings when you're pissing or doing the dishes. The time it takes for the call to go to voice mail is exactly one second before you are able to get to the phone. When I pull my phone out of my pocket, I always accidentally hit the button that hangs up the call. The importance of an expected phone call is inversely proportional to the charge remaining on the phone.

"Maybe you should answer your phone when I call you," Nancy once snipped.

"Maybe," I said.

When I was employed as a salesperson, before I became a scientist and before my gig with the forest service, I had a speaker phone installed in the men's room of the office where I worked, along with a dictaphone, a coffee pot and some sales order slips. I would drink coffee constantly, necessitating the need to urinate, which would in turn guarantee calls from customers. Several of them would ask me what the tinkling noise was in the background. I told them it was raining and that the roof leaked. They asked me why I didn't get the leak fixed. I would always reply that you can't fix the leak when it's raining, and when it doesn't rain the roof doesn't leak. I quickly became the most successful salesperson in the company's history. It was during this time that I noticed the lack of gravity also applied to urine. Try though I might, I was never able to keep some stray trickles of piss from finding their way to the floor. It seems piss and garbage have something in common.

Many people who call me should never have called. Nancy is not one of them. Gravity should have held their phone down before they made a completely useless and wasteful call. My time didn't used to be valuable, but now that I'm a scientist I count every minute. That's called accounting. It's a branch of mathematics. Nancy is good at mathematics. She has ten fingers and ten toes.

Nancy once said, "Maybe you could fix the toilet today."

"Maybe," I murmured.

As anyone, especially Nancy, can tell you, I'm a tinkerer. I often use screws and, consequently, screwdrivers. I often work on projects that require me to reach above my head. When I'm trying to put in a screw but lose my grip, I can follow the flight of the screw down towards the ground (or floor), as if there were gravity, and I can even hear it strike a surface and possibly even the additional bounces as it skitters across the floor. But I know in my heart of hearts that the screw has found its way into the ninth dimension. I am familiar with the ninth dimension because I'm a scientist. I have not been to the ninth dimension personally, but you don't have to go to Las Vegas to know there is gambling there.  Nancy thought maybe we should go there, but we never did. Las Vegas, I mean.

I think I've been to the ninth dimension before. It was when I woke up after a particularly lively party. I couldn't tell where I was at first, but then I marvelled at the spinning landscape and the presence of incredibly loud sounds. The ninth dimension, apparently, gives you a really bad headache.

No matter where I am, because of the invisible strings, people want to be in the space I am occupying. At every street crossing, a car will appear out of nowhere, become annoyed at my presence in "their" space, and honk at me. On the sidewalk, pedestrians I approach angle towards me, not with malice, but because we are connected by invisible strings. When driving I commonly follow drivers who are driving in the middle of two lanes. This is called, "taking their half out of the middle". I have also noticed that the further the strings are from the ground, the weaker they are. I'm quite tall, and when working my way through a crowd, there are always tiny people pushing their way past me, irresistably. The invisible strings that are pulling them towards our destination are stronger than the ones higher up where I am.

The invisible strings between me and Nancy are particularly strong. When in the kitchen together I will invariably get in her way.

"Maybe you should find something else to do," she'll say.

"Maybe," I'll reply.

If you don't take a picture of it, it doesn't exist. The most exquisite scenery, the most heart-tugging moments simply cannot exist if you don't capture the moment by taking a picture of it. And it's so much easier now that we all carry cameras all the time. Our reality would be in big trouble if we didn't have billions of pictures to prove it exists. And pictures can prove there is no gravity. Look at all those pictures of people hovering in mid-air. People hovering over hotel beds. People hovering with their legs pulled up and pom-poms held high above their heads. Hovering is a sure sign that there is no gravity.

Next up - Pruebas de fluidos Indican la realidad cuántica concreta.


"Hello", he lied.

My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the workings of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.

What else should he be set for, with his staff? What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there, And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare.